sleep
The night drags lately on unhinged,
The ringing just for me to dwell,
To listen beyond any noise and find it further still,
I'm found in murky dreams so frail,
They hardly hold a pull and so descend,
To settled sheet like drowsy sediment,
I am sleepy with the time,
I am gorged on frantic plays,
The hidden inner man has walked upon the face and is now to rest.
Surprised by weighted face,
A slumber comes as if to one:
Slumbering whilst awake. But still,
The flicker stays behind my eyes,
Though muffled through an endless fog,
I've seemed to draw an overdraft too dire.
When open eyes become as closed,
The day is drawing in,
When whispers seem too shrill for air,
The day is drawing in,
When light tucks over all the edges of the world,
And lamps stretch out in weary yawns,
The day is drawing in.
Digging up a sleepy day,
Long buried far away,
Late morning breaking of a fast,
The sails lie scattered from the mast,
For here we shall not sink nor swim,
But rest the gentle waves until the lights grow dim.
Overstayed the day,
These petty games we play,
To pace about and find a want,
To prick the pride and find a font,
Which drips a poisoned brew,
Until we're spent: our energies few.
Tear away from all the noise,
To deepest underbelly's dreams,
Where sound is hushed to burbled whisper,
Chatter to the waking world above.
Insurmounted trials lay behind,
The gracious solace of night,
A refuge of sleep and bastion of hope,
My strength sustained by grace will raise again at dawn.
Express trip through a day,
Packed fuller than a fir tree's spine,
Concrete jungles to old oaken arches,
Making ways by solitary trees,
To finally find a place to sleep.
The call to sleep compounds into a scream,
Sublimates into a resounding thud and ache,
Surrounding all my head and nestled deep behind my eyes,
Coiled up like muscled snakes within my legs,
Ok I head, I head.
The greylight from the world outside,
Seems coldly blue in hue at least a little,
But in the greylight all the room's
Geometry is indecisively in shadow,
They've hidden away their colours now,
They give instead a peaceful slumbering,
They hide their fullness for the dawn.
To curl up on a chair,
And spread out on the floor,
To call a blanket friend,
And freezing cold tiles warm,
To shut the eyes to outer lights,
And half open them to take a look,
At these many ways to find a rest - a sleep and deeply kip.
Goodnight to you,
And you and you and you,
A giggle for the way,
Such joyful heralds for the unwaking land,
Array themselves like haphazard scores,
Just barely harmonising to a law unto themselves.
A poem returning to sleep,
A topic for all days...
That end in tumbles down to duvets,
And quiet contemplation in the night,
Eyes closed... or open in the dark,
All's same in this returning land,
Yet tired whispers ring like wind-chimes,
A gentle call to turn in quick,
That crashes into raucous harmony,
And then to silence urging you the same.
...
March to bed,
I should have turned in,
Quite a time ago,
But alas I sit here late,
And poem for a silly consequence,
Of pushing sleep to other hours.
Lately to sleep,
A little dally on the way,
Meandering thinks cause my feet not to tread,
Alas it is lately - the feet learn to walk,
The thoughts turn to bed and dally no more.
Like flowing currents in a warm stream,
This molten tiredness drifts beneath my skin,
And my mind wanders like a dream,
It pulls me into muddled half-way hot,
The ripples tall as I dip through the froth like cream,
It pools in steady pools like sunken thoughts,
I stand to the side and breathe the steam.
Head heavy,
Lead up from the bridge of my nose,
Bed creaking out for repose - so I
Tread on the surface of sleepfullness.
I hear a dulcet hum not my own,
But mechanical, embracing the air,
And wobbling like a beating heart,
That draws me close and beacons me to dearest sleep.
My eyes are tired,
Why do they seem to chastise me,
I barely even refuse sleep,
But simply tally at the thoughts of bed,
For waking is much better, see?
But my eyes... they really do chastise,
For I often seem to stretch the day,
When rather I should tuck it up,
The light behind my tired eyes.
Turn in earlier,
Cash out tomorrow,
And see to the day,
In His sight given,
And seek his face,
By His life given.
I wish to enter time sleepful,
To warm up under covers kipped,
To do business at dream market stalls,
To nonsense talk from tired script,
And walk drempt streets forgetful.
Sovereign Lord,
When I slumber you wake,
Sustaining me when dreariness
Runs rampant in my creaking frame,
And I can rest in no other,
I will make you my refuge,
Glorious Father.
Trying not to crash and burn,
But touch down smooth,
Just as planes do,
Cease now! I told my tired cries,
But they remained,
Their call the same,
Sooner shall I wrap up lunch,
I tap out rhyme,
I rest the time,
The night delayed will soon run:
As darkness keeps,
Hushed minds asleep.
Fall asleep on carpet bristles,
Encircled by a talking family,
Heavy brain inside your skull,
Rests warm beneath a dream-woven duvet,
And cozy warmth spreads through and through,
On carpet bristles halfway soft.
Grassy beds,
Lie strewn in yesterday's dream,
But today spring overturns air,
And falls firmer beneath the slope of my back.
Snuggled up in parents' bed,
Packaged up in duvet-packing-peanuts,
That pack us in to talk a little,
In broken strings of sayings gone,
I must be going sometime now,
My bed awaits,
And poem snuggles end so soon.
Busied hands,
Fall tired on the screen,
Limp and sleep-primed,
But first a little more busy tapping,
And then a handy dream,
To rest the mind that rhymed,
And exceed a long time napping.
Home alone,
And the darkness is a little less full,
Empty of the sleepy bodies bound to mine by blood,
And it rumbles silently into the night,
Alas I remain with my friend and my brother,
He sleeps whilst I busy the winking hours,
They shall end soon.
Slowing down,
And my body sways on the midnight river,
Slow dancing on the rolling waves,
All is calm in dreamer's town,
On the open waterway my raft wobbles with a releasing shiver,
I will find my vessel for another day docked and saved,
And rest in truest hugs divine,
That wrap me up in gentlest providence.
Fuzzing hums,
Resound with pulsing pipes,
And a quiet ambience swaddles the house in cozy nighttime tunes,
Hear the hum and hear it no more,
For sleep should grasp your tired thoughts.
Shaded walls,
Do flow on upwards,
Sheering off to a flat face above,
A surface that is,
Nothing strange to see,
But nighttime waltzing to the tune of retreating day,
When noonday folk do rest from toil,
And gaze upon their frames beyond tight eyes,
And thoughts fall into weary dust of dreaming-scapes.
'Poems came'
Whispered the weary eyes,
Blinking silent syllables at the screen,
Thinking of the many lights that sought to meet it in its depths,
Yet it returned to the screen once again,
For it shines the warmest light on deepest darkest pupils,
A chorus of static fizzing meets the eyes,
Friendship for the tired days,
They sit still again,
For silence is the talk of sleepy friends.
Sleepy eyes...
Follow the brilliant white keys along the screen,
Hiding depths of groggy wakefulness,
'Maybe poems will come'
The eyes whisper to the screen,
An inaudible sizzle meets the gaze,
They sit in ponderance,
For the night is younger than it could be,
And tomorrow shall remain a little ahead of them,
As it always has...
Dropping down like a sack of rice,
Falling scattered in my pot-like bed,
Sizzling under covers until I'm fluffy tomorrow,
I will face the day and fall like grains again,
Until next time...
I'll be cooking with sleep and sheep for now.
Winding down,
I hear the water flowing through the pipes,
A little sizzle and drizzle,
A warm rush for the night,
To stay warm in my covers - so cozy,
I'm a little drowsy now,
Lights off and breathe slowly.
A little breath in my lungs,
Gratefulness in my soul,
Off to bed - I climb the rungs,
And the night slips in.
A simple dream sits in the periphery.